Dark Blood
by darkladyvanstar
Summary: Cynthia Wells wakes up one day undead after believing she never would again. Still new to the world of darkness she has to come to terms with her new existence all the while hoping to solve the mystery of the person who did this to her.
1. Chapter 1

_I am not sure if I should put a trigger-warning up, but here it is! Dark, depressing theme at first, so be warned! ...I also have not written in a while, so be warned of that as well...and I guess, it is a little long. My bad! I promise, the story will not be all too serious later. I think. I appreciate any read and reviews!_

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Even he finally left her.  
She would have breathed a sigh of relief if she could and yet, for the first time in a long time she felt a pang of anxiety over his absence.

Now she was truly alone, in this darkness. The silence seemed to consume her thoughts in the same way she imagined the insects would do with her corpse eventually. But this was fine, in essence, this…void washed over her mind like a river, inevitably carrying her some place else. It was peaceful, in a strange way.

And yet, she perceived something interrupting now. Faint noise began trickling through. Without really knowing, she knew it was intruding. It felt unnatural. As if she would be awaken from a deep slumber.

No, this felt wrong. Something was stirring. The motion only intensified and something out of place announced itself.

Panic.

This was not supposed to happen. Noise was flooding in like through a broken dam, steadily getting louder, roaring impatiently as if it could not wait to rush her mind to drown her and tear her into pieces violently.

Cynthia's eyes flung open and she let out a scream that pierced through the quiet in her small apartment.

She sat up in an instant, heavily breathing. Air flowed uselessly through her lungs and she knew something was not right. She stood up, too quickly, and swayed around dizzily as the dirty, dust-gray walls and the old, dark wood floor she was standing on began spinning slowly.

She held her head and groaned weakly but still regained her balance before she could fall.

It took her long seconds of confusion to remember where she was and calm down somewhat.

She chuckled nervously over how silly her nervous attack was before the laugh got stuck in her throat when she heard a slight hysterical edge to it which worried her again.

She inhaled a few more times. Even though it did nothing, she felt slightly clearer, stronger, perhaps or definitely just willing herself to get a grip.

With a faint frown she lifted her eyes to the ceiling where they stuck onto a rope, torn just a little above the noose.

There was almost something like frustration on her face as she swore it held her weight before, when he was there, with her. In fact, he probably helped her make sure, but that was a little fuzzy in her memory now.

What might have appeared like frustration gave way to a hint of disappointment, leaving her feeling hollow inside, as if a little cloud had decided to spread out in her.

She drew a sharp breath and held it involuntarily as she tensed a moment, bracing herself as if anticipating someone.

But no one came. There was no noise in her room as there was no one in it but here. For now, she thought and a shiver ran through her spine.

She physically shook herself and quickly decided to occupy herself with something else before she could manage to jinx her luck and summon him earlier than necessary.

Taking a moment, she listened carefully.

It was hard to concentrate on anything else before so it was only now when she really heard how much louder the city of Santa Monica was tonight, more than usual.

Just about every detail was crystal clear, while the building itself was rather silent in comparison.

It must be the adrenaline, she tried to reason. At least the aftermath of her attempt did not draw the attention of anyone nearby, she thought with a sigh of relief.

A light breeze was blowing in through a black curtain in front of an open window next to her desk, which was odd as she could not recall having opened any windows.

Nevertheless she felt a little bliss at the cold wind caressing her face.

It was only odd how it did not chill her skin.

It was a fairly cloudless night, in fact a rather beautiful night.

The moon was just visible enough so that she was able to see her apartment fine, albeit in a darker, blue-lighted shade.

She found it serene, like a quiet song and that is when she had decided before that this was fine.

But now unfortunately, that was over.  
She needed to face it. Something happened and it was wrong.

She had tried banishing the memories. The memories of whatever place she had been in before. The dark place, the peaceful place which felt like someone was taking her somewhere simpler.

But she could not banish them. They were burned into her mind all this while and she felt a heavy kind of feeling, as if she lost someone close to her. Her heart was grief stricken and the laugh which followed would have sounded hysterical to a deaf person.

It was ridiculous, the way she felt and she sobered after a few seconds.

Her body felt stiff and she stretched her limbs a little. It did make sense. She must have fallen hard onto her wood floor and lain there for god knows how long before she came to.

She huffed as her limbs still felt no better.

Her fingers found her neck and she almost pulled then away when she touched her skin. Her body was icy. Had the window been open that long? How long had she been out?

Either way, she felt the wounded area. It burned slightly when she touched the area the rope had held her tightly and she inhaled sharply. She opened her mouth to make a sound, but it came out normal and yet her throat burned roughly. It was if if it had never felt so dry before, like a desert, a hard, rough stone desert.

She shut her eyes for a moment, cursing inwardly as an array of angry thoughts stormed her.

She walked briskly straight towards her vanity to inspect herself in the mirror in it. She was wearing a gothic styled necklace which held a small, circular-shaped, amethyst-colored glass stone in the middle.

It hardly distracted from the clear signs somewhat below her jaw pointing to a troubled person unfortunately, but that aside, her hair was a little ruffled and she was still a little bloodless. She swallowed and watched her trachea move, stiffening as her throat burned as if it had turned into sandpaper.

Closing her left hand, she decided to act out an idea and moved her fist towards the mirror until it bumped against the surface like any solid object, reassuring her she had not, in fact, turned into a spirit.

This just stirred up some more anxiety in her somehow instead of relief.

She wanted to tell herself she was overthinking, in shock, finally completely out of her mind, possessed, sick, a fucking zombie. Anything. But something told her that was not it. Something dark, something mean, but before she could explore *that* further, she stepped away from her reflection to look past her book case onto a classic-looking clock hanging right next to it.

It was about midnight.

Looking back at her mirror, she tried smoothing her hair a little by running her hand over her hair. Unsatisfied still, she went through it with her hair brush lying in front of her quickly and patted herself off just in case her clothes collected some dust while she was out.

Some fresh air could probably help right now, but first, she touched the marks the rope had left. It still stung.

An easy concealing spell should do it.  
She left the fingers of her left hand on her neck and stared blankly.

A few seconds passed but nothing happened.

She frowned again. Then it went, her skin warmed a little and the marks vanished. Slowly, but it took some strain, which was very perplexing to her.

It was a very simple spell. She never had any difficulties with this one as it was one of the first spells she learned with which she also hid plenty of other things when growing up.

There it was again, that thirst. It was like a desert in her.

She went into her tiny kitchen for a glass of water which barely did anything. Another glass of water had the same result and she gripped the kitchen counter with an annoyed grimace.

 _I need some time, I suppose_ , she thought.

She walked over to her desk and grabbed her handbag lying next to it and her keys on it, then she was out.

It was a cool night when she stepped out of her apartment.

"Hey-", a slurring voice to her right greeted her, causing Cynthia to jump right out of her skin.

The drunk, who stumbled over his own words, began anew: "Hey lady, y-you got some cha-". but before he could finish the young witch had already collected herself from her surprise and had turned towards him to step closely to his face, anger in her out of nowhere .

"If you are still here, by the time I am back, I will call the police.", she threatened, the last word ending in a hiss.

She watched the fear of God appear in his eyes before he could gather himself and back away from her. "Bitch.", he spat out, loud enough for her to hear, but still leaving the alley in a pace far too quick for it to be seen as anything but fleeing.

Cynthia needed a moment herself as she felt the composure she had just managed to stitch together before stepping out was nothing but all violently flung into fractures again by that surprise-appearance. After a moment she followed the man suit and left the alley as well.

The alley opened up to a road running vertically along the street with a medical clinic on the other side of the road.

A street worker standing nearby the clinic, dressed very provocatively in red especially caught her attention, but before she could embarrass herself by staring at her long she crossed the luckily empty street in a fast pace.

The pain in her throat flared up much more intensely now causing her to grimace and she headed past the clinic into another alley, a bright red light bulb on the wall to her left flickering incessantly and ominously while the right wall advertised a bunch of punk bands via posters.

A hunch seeped in slowly but she did not even want to consider it. It would mean a lot more than just her feeling a little cold or a little dead.

She needed no spell for the creeping suspicion to set in that her body might rather be **un** dead, but her mind fogged up right then.

How? Have I risen as a zombie technically? Such questions bombarded her head while she was walking deeper into the alley.

Panic rose up in her again and the pain in her throat flared up intensely as if she had literally burned her pharynx with an actual torch.

It was so bad she almost had to stop, but she managed to keep her pace up somehow, taking a left turn and almost reaching the main streets again when an obviously very drunk and loud man entered the empty alley.

The area in the left corner of her eye slightly darkened as he finally decided to show himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Charon. One word, no, a name crossed her mind and as if reacting to its name the presence around her vibrated and the quiet which followed almost drowned her current struggle out.  
A mischievous cackle greeted her, something he did occasionally, but always having the effect of instilling a good sense of dread in her.  
Of course, no one heard it. Their conversations were always carried out mentally.

The drunken man still had not noticed any presence as he was trying to steady himself against the side of the alley and the darkness to the girl's side moved closer, close enough for her to make out its usual black smoke-like shape and texture but this time, it felt different, more...potent.

She could not quite put her finger on what exactly was different today, but it felt stronger, more pervasive. She tasted…something like poison on the tip of her tongue. It was as if Charon put in some extra effort in an annoyingly flimsy, thin veil to cover the witch's mind's eye to prevent her from uncovering something which had never been there before.

In any other circumstance she would probably have been able to pierce through it easily as it felt like it was there just for the sake to annoy her, but in her current near-panic state, she could hardly focus. Something inside her stirred, like a slight, menacing growl fully promising a vicious bite. She put her guard up, determined not to lose control of…of whatever it was, while also willing herself to keep a calm exterior in the hopes that it would steady her spirit in a similar way.

Freakishly she was still unable to stop staring at the man. Her hands had balled up to fists so hard, blood was slowly dripping out of them, but she hardly noticed as the man had strangely captured all of her attention. He was dressed in tacky clothes and was hardly handsome.

 _I expected you when I woke up._ , she spoke in her thoughts desperately trying to rail herself back from whatever had gripped her inside so hard and was slowly and inevitable driving herself closer to the man.

Charon cackled again. _Well, now I am here._ , he replied simply.

 _That's it?_ , she thought back, hoping Charon could not sense her current state as she found herself taking a few slow, involuntary steps towards the man.  
Very uncharacteristical of him, Cynthia thought to herself.  
 _You were with me before._ , she shot back, trying to get more out of him. She had this familiar feeling that he was up to something, again.

 _And now you are back!_ , he replied with fake euphoria. She could almost hear his cruel, wide smile without turning her head. It felt somehow like he knew what was happening, maybe even did this to her.

She had always suspected that he was not entirely a familiar since he had been with her since, well, ever since she could remember. If she was lucky, he was a spirit who found a witch to make use of, if she was not, and she had always hoped she was, he might perhaps be a lower daemon, but she never bothered doing anything about it, since he did prove himself useful many times, but more importantly and something she usually tried not to admit to herself, he eventually became a part of her and she was afraid to imagine what it would be like if she ever found a way to make him disappear.

She wanted to turn around and look at him to confirm her suspicions but found herself unable to keep her eyes off her prey. She flinched in confusion when she realized what she had called the man.

The drunken man had still not noticed anyone nearby and tried to relief himself on the wall, using a trash container to his right as cover, but instead leaned against the wall sluggishly.

 _Go closer._ , Charon whispered, seductively, which in such surroundings felt odd and creepy.

If she did not already know that he had no physical form, she would have sworn that she felt his breath on her ear, but despite every bone in her body wanting to refuse his suggestion, this urge she had been trying to resist this whole time drew her nearer. Like some deranged stalker, she did not take her eyes off him for even a second.

Once again, Charon spoke to her heart. She staggered forwards reluctantly towards the drunk who in the state he was in would apparently not even notice an elephant nearby. She could hear his heart beat. *You know what to do, don't you?*, Charon whispered temptingly as if he was talking about a tasty looking piece of chocolate cake. But they both knew what he was suggesting. Morbid. The word cannibalism crossed her mind and it chilled her bones and yet she did not turn away. For a moment the way his blood pulsed through his body was a captivating melody which drowned out all noise in the whole city.

It silenced everything around them, the loud music which was just vibrating through the club next door, the noisy people far away on the streets and other traffic. The witch noted in that eerie calm that they were alone in the alley and that no one would hear him scream if she tore into him right now and take whatever she found in his neck.

His heart. In this moment, it had the most alluring beat. Those thoughts right then felt so right to her, she barely bothered noticing how far from human they felt. In that moment she was something else when the last strain of her resistance broke like some other protective barrier before and she practically flung herself onto the man gripping his neck tightly and biting hard with her surprisingly sharp teeth, dully noting how one of her teeth scraped...bone?

Fortunately her victim must have been too drunk to struggle much as Cynthia was sucking his blood greedily. He made some muffled groans under her hand which she had apparently already clasped around his face instinctively. Eventually he even relaxed in her grip and she noted how that made it much more enjoyable. Her spine shivered at that realization but her thirst overrode anything else right now. His taste made her feel whole again like perhaps, never before and she barely noticed Charon in the background cheering for her like the twisted, little fuck he had always been. His blood flowed down her throat as easily as water for a man in a desert dying of thirst. Only when his beautiful heart weakened did she slow down. Her fingers gripped hard onto his neck trying to find enough strength before she had to decide she had enough. She tore herself off his body and let him slump to the ground. Still in a daze, she looked down on him before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She had to see it to believe it was all not just the worst dream she ever had.

One look confirmed: It was indeed blood.

She did not imagine all this on some kind of drug. She would love that drug that could give her this kind of trip, but that passing thought disappeared with the shaking of her head as the glow inside her slowly ebbed away as she was left with her victim in the luckily still empty alley. Disturbed she looked around, before kneeling down to inspect his neck with a frown. While he would make it, she must have taken a considerable amount. Blood was still trickling down from the puncture wounds she left and it certainly looked rather...messy.

Her eyes were fixed on that spot which she found worrisome. She felt a wave of revulsion over wanting to take the rest of his life.

How did she not have enough? She almost drained him! It took her a little before she noticed her chest had started moving as she was filling her lungs with frantic breaths. Yet she could not resist lifting her victim up and moving her head to his neck. The sight had a strange calming effect on her and she could not resist licking the thin path of blood off with its sizeable, bloody tear. Even the slight taste left her with a sick sense of satisfaction and the wanting of more.

She tried to banish her disturbing feelings. Curiously she watched the wound paling as her spit seemed to have healed the wound, but there was still a noticeable gash.

She listened for his heartbeat. It was faint. She turned to the trash container, stretching a little to scan its content with her eyes and found something she was looking for, some dirty, dark rag. Shaking it a little in the hopes of not causing him to contract aids, she tied it firmly around his neck before picking his body up and dumping him a little deeper in the alley against a wall, hiding him from most people. Just in case he would remember when waking up, she went through his pockets and found a brown, quite worn leather wallet. He did not have much cash, but she took it anyways, leaving the cards. She was glad he did not see her before. Making sure her face looked clean and licking the blood off her hands, she almost ran back to her apartment.

She hoped no one on the street before paid any attention to her, then again, there had not been many around at this time of the night. Still though, she was usually a composed type, but felt like she must have appeared hysterical to anyone. Once she reached her apartment complex, she bolted up the stairs into the hallway and back into her space, tossing her handbag under her bed before going to her vanity again to inspect her mouth. She shuddered when she prodded her very sharp teeth.

Vampire. She could barely wrap her mind around it and her head felt light.

 _I swear to god, not this again._ , she scolded willing herself not to fall into another goddamn nervous attack.

She gripped the sides of her vanity hard, leaving claw marks. As a witch, of course she had read more about vampires before than just in fiction books, but vampirism had to be passed on, does it not?!

She could not remember having been bitten. Her head hurt even more, when she tried remembering if someone had bitten her. She would have fallen into another hysterical laugh, but caught herself before that happened.

Was that something she would not recall?! Was that something the drunk in the alley would remember?, she reflected. He had hardly struggled. Her hand shot up to her neck but found it clear of any harm. Then again, it had been a few hours since she woke up and she had just taken some blood to her. Her mark could have healed by now, if marks by vampires do like any wound. She was seething as she wished she had inspected her neck more thorough. Does it actually have to be the neck, she wondered? Feeding from there felt right then, but it was technically possible to take blood well enough from most other areas, she contemplated.

" **CHARON!** ", she shouted furiously, turning around instantly, but there was no sign of him anywhere, at least no visible sign. She glared into the empty space and huffed as she could sense his lingering presence in her room, but as of now he did what he wanted again and did not show himself.

He only appeared whenever he felt like it, or whenever it was most inconvenient to her, whichever came first. She **knew** this as she could feel him willfully ignoring her when she was really hoping for some kind of wisdom, although knowing secretly there would probably be little.

There were some things she could do which could draw him out, but she quickly pushed that thought away. Shaking her head, she thought, she would have noticed two puncture wounds before. She took off her shirt and inspected her upper body in the mirror, stretching out her arms, but found nothing.

What disturbed her more was that that was surely a mystery which she assumed would go unsolved for quite some time. This left her feeling rather helpless and she blinked some tears away. She had had it with this feeling of despair. Her eyes felt moist when a thought occurred to her. She led the fingers of her left hand towards her eye and wiped the tears off. Looking down at her hand, she gasped. The tears were blood-red, as in fact, they were blood. Probably the same she just consumed.

Surprised, she turned back towards the mirror and glared hard at herself. The rims of her eyes were indeed blood-red. She blinked the tears away again and tossed her top onto her bed before heading towards her bathroom to wash her eyes out, just to be safe. _I guess, no crying from here on out._ , she thought in a weak attempt to cheer herself up.

The cold water did help in clearing her mind and she decided instead not to rack her mind over it. Clearly there was literally nothing she could do as of now. That did help taking the weight off a little, she thought while heading back to the end of her bed. Grabbing her top and putting it back on, she slumped towards the floor with the back towards the footboard of her bed staring into nothing, trying to wrap her head around this whole thing.

She pricked her left index finger in frustration and drew a drop of blood, letting it slide back and forth on her finger, watching it as it went, before raising her arm up above her head and letting the droplet slide up her arm past her tattoo depicting a simple, black skeletal-looking viper with small arms clinging to the girl's wrist. Its head rested shortly above the back of her hand while the rest of its body formed an S on the back of her forearm. An identical one mirrored its sibling on Cynthia's right arm.

To most people it passed as dark aesthetic body markings but it secretly served a more practical function.

Cynthia observed the gleam of the blood drop, realizing she could analyse her blood magically but that was not going to do anyone good if she did not even know the person parts of the blood might belong to!, she continued thinking frustrated.

Curiously that magic worked easier, she noted. *It must be because I just drank.*, Cynthia thought to herself. Then, it struck her. This was why her concealing spell took longer. Her shoulders slumped. Death had taken something from her.

Bringing her left arm to her mouth, she licked the trail she left on her arm off, curiously noting how her blood tasted stronger than the human's. Was that a thing with vampire blood, she wondered. Not that she wanted to test that. It was already bad enough she was drinking human blood now. No need to get weirder.

She looked around in her apartment making sure Charon was still absent. Fitting for him to disappear when she had the most questions, she thought before another thought crossed her mind: He is sleeping off his meal. She shuddered, disturbed by the sensation that her guess felt close.

She looked back down onto her arms, in no mood at all to confront the state of her magical ability now that she had just found out that she had become undead. She hardly cared that she might have to deal with those worries later, but right now it was just too much.

It was two in the morning and she felt wide awake, surely due to her condition and she guessed she had adopted an allergy against the sun now, but she decided she did not have the will power to leave her apartment tonight again. She glanced to her windows, glad her taste in decor tended to be on the darker side of the rainbow.

It was still dark and the sun would not show itself until much later. She looked up to her ceiling in contemplation. Could it be? Did she seriously yearn for Charon's presence again? Maybe she would feel less helpless and lonely right now. She could not remember a moment when she was still alive where she had felt more alone than now. Deep inside, she knew better though. Something whispered to her that he would just be a cruel companion and she agreed silently with a grim smile.

She stood up and made sure the curtains covered all the windows but leaving one small gap to the farthest of her bed with the intention of testing the effects sunlight would have on her now, but dismissing the idea of sparkle automatically, unless she turned out to be a vampiric fae. She chuckled over that idea.

When she was done, she went back to her bed to lean against it, determined to watch the sun rise, before remembering a book in her bag which she had been reading for a while. She grabbed it from under the bed and went back to her position.

Eventually as the sky became brighter and her eyelids grew heavier but it felt very different from when she was alive. It felt as if she was slowly turning into stone and she could hardly focus on her book, but the thought felt pleasing to her. Statues are beautiful, in their way.

It took her all her strength to remain standing, when a still humble light beam finally entered her room. Cynthia stared at it tiredly before forcing herself off the bed and walking sluggishly towards the curtain. She stopped a little before the pale beam, hesitating. She watched the dust particles dance in the sun light before taking a deep, useless breath and moving her left hand into the light.

For a moment her hand accepted the light and she felt as if nothing changed. Her hand felt satisfyingly warm and it was as if it was all a hideous dream. Then it grew warmer and warmer to an uncomfortable degree. She watched as her skin turned red and her eyes narrowed, staring hard at the spot the light touched as it grew darker and the pain intensified. She gritted her teeth as her searing flesh even gave off thin, gray wisps of smoke before she finally pulled her hand towards herself as it ultimately caught fire. The small flame died in that sudden motion and her hand looked like she had placed it into an open flame instead of mere sunlight.

Her flesh, now soft and raw, stung and she bit her lips, stifling a low groan. She held her hand towards herself while it still pulsed with burning intensity. Her little experiment left her weak and now too tired to bother doing much about it so she let her arm down, carefully avoiding the slightest swing to that motion.

She walked over to her bed like a zombie, almost falling towards it and placed her injured hand on top of her chest, the other hand around the wrist of the injured one to make sure it would remain there while she slept, not like she imagined she would move much in her sleep now. She laid still, dead-tired eyes to the ceiling before sleep took over. The last thing she saw was the torn rope she had still left hanging before her vision got plunged into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I have no idea how to measure the length of chapters. Enjoy!**_

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The sun had just set when she woke up. Undead sleep was quite different as well, she noted as she felt very stiff and hardly felt like she could rise completely yet. She turned her head a little to the right, slower than she wanted to, as it felt as heavy as lead, and watched through the tiny gap she left in her window the sky darkening while she inhaled and exhaled flatly. The rhythm helped her focus at least and seeing her chest lift ever so slightly felt familiar and comforting.

The way her muscles were slowly released from the stone-like paralysis that put her to sleep felt like her body had been frozen and now she was thawing up. She closed her eyes feeling the cold of her now dead body and slowly coming to terms with her fate. She anticipated tears again, but after a moment, her eyes felt dry. She was glad.

Feeling the cold of her bones and her colder heart, she imagined, made her feel calmer and she imagined tiny stone-crystals cracking and falling apart as her muscles began to feel more mobile, one after another. She could almost hear it faintly.

It darkened considerably when she could finally sit up. She sighed and made a mental note that she would like to wake up to some soft music in the future. As of now, the way she woke up, disturbed her. It was something she would probably get used to eventually, but the idea of music distracting her meanwhile appealed to her.

First thing's first, she tilted her hand, inspecting it. It was still very red, but at least not raw anymore. She noted how it healed slower than the wound she inflicted on the man from yesterday.

On that note, her throat itched a little reminding her of how good the blood had tasted. She tried to ignore the revulsion that crept up on her. This was a diet she had to live with now. She got off her bed and headed towards her vanity to brush off her clothes as well as through her hair while she thought of how she was going to get her next drink. The Asylum came to her mind, the club her last victim had left before stumbling into Cynthia.

Her outfit should do fine, she figured. It showed just enough skin. Having made up her mind  
she grabbed her handbag from under her bed and was on her way.

This time, in no hurry at all, she had the opportunity to read the posters on the way there. There were some bands she liked advertised on it, apparently they would be playing at the Asylum soon. How cool!

The Asylum was bustling with people that night when Cynthia arrived. She made her way to the bar where she ordered a whiskey on the rocks. Leaning with her elbows against the bar, she listened to the current song in which a soft female voice accompanied by electro tunes sung wistfully about the feeling of being trapped. Already she had caught the attention of a man on the dance floor whose gaze she met allowing herself a small smile. It did not take much more encouragement for him to make his way to her before someone else stepped to her.

"Who do we have here?", said a…provocatively dressed, to say the least, pale, blonde woman in a sultry voice with her hair in pig tails, eyes heavily framed in smokey eye shadow and wine-red lips matching the color of her choker. The small, lighter-colored rose in the middle on it immediately caught Cynthia's eyes.

Her white top was tied together in a knot at her sternum, barely covering her chest area with a generously deep cut showing off her delicate collar bones as well as the lace of her bra. Along with that she was rocking a dark plaid mini skirt and white socks which went slightly over her knees. Needless to say the strings of her thong revealing themselves a little above her skirt were not the only thing attracting mostly male attention, but right now, she was closer to the young vampire than she normally allowed others to be.

Though her pale skin fit with her attire fooling many still living people, Cynthia could tell right away she had met another member of the undead. Her surprise had left her stunned and before she could react, the older vampire leaned closer to graze her right arm while looking into her eyes. Only then did the young witch notice her left eye being pale green while the other a pale gray. Knowing eyes held the witch's deep dark ones as she continued in a low, but playful tone. "Another scrumptious, young plaything straight out of life and into my club?" The blonde was close enough that Cynthia could smell pleasant flowery scent of her perfume.

The blonde moved her head close Cynthia's left ear and in a whisper, subtly dancing in between threatening as well as lusty. "You smell new, little girl, like fabric softener dew on freshly mowed Astroturf." A fang grazed the tip of her ear before the vampire backed off a little in mock surprise. "I'm not frightening you, am I, duckling?"

Collecting herself, Cynthia decided to play it calm and flirted back amused "Frightening isn't the word I'd use…" Straightening herself, she added with a little, mischievous smile "Exciting is more like it.".

That earned her a surprised chuckle before the club owner said "I can tell that you and I are going to get along just like firehoses." At this, the young witch only had the image of a blazing fire. "Firehoses?" she questioned nevertheless, still maintaining a somewhat amused tone.

With a satisfied smirk, she revealed: "When we are turned on, there's bound to be flames."

This time it was Cynthia's time to chuckle. She had no idea. "That's what I was thinking.", she replied her smile increasing. "What's your name?"

"I'm the finger down your spine, when all the lights are out. I'm the name on all the men's room walls." she declared confidently and at this, she glanced down coyly, feigning a dramatic pout and letting some sadness drip into her voice. "When I pout, the whole world tries to make me smile." That only lasted so long before she continued. "And everyone always wants to know, who…is…that girl?"

Cynthia allowed herself a little giggle, casting her eyes to the floor before looking back into the blonde's differently-colored eyes. "Aren't you the tease?", she said teasingly back herself. "Got a name I can remember you by?"

"I…am…Jeanette!" she declared happily. "And this bit of chaos crammed in a certifiable giggle is my club." she went on gleefully before her eyes locked onto hers with piercing intensity. For a moment, it was like Jeanette saw right through the witch, aware of all her secrets. "And who did you bring along?" she asked, with a now curious look behind Cynthia.

Still startled from the focused look before, she forced herself to remain calm while glancing behind as casual as she could manage. There was no one there, to her relief. Jeanette had a confused expression which faded away as he heaved a satisfied sigh, continuing her affectionate tone as if nothing had happened. "Oh, I'd just love to give you funny feelings all night, sweetheart, but I really must trouble with some business to attend to." For a moment, she seemed to consider something as her eyes lifted towards the ceiling before she looked like she had decided something. "Actually...let's go together!", she suggested with a broad smile.

"What?", Cynthia retorted confused. "There's a gathering tonight and something tells me it will be fun!", Jeannette explained. "Let's both go there, I'll drive.", she offered, smiling.

Considering it an opportunity to learn more about her surroundings, she accepted. Not that Jeanette was waiting. Before the witch could protest, she had already grasped her right hand firmly leading her out of the club with the stares of many patrons on their backs. Had she still been alive, she would definitely have blushed.

Her car was parked not far away. There was not much traffic when Jeanette turned the radio on, humming randomly while they were driving, her tune not seeming to align to any of the songs, especially when the local late-night broadcast hostess came on.

She did so in such a carefree manner that for the first few minutes, Cynthia could not help but watch her quietly as she could not really come up with a good topic to chat about. As the hostess, Deb of Night, was taking on callers, the young vampire forced herself to look straight ahead to see where this gathering would take place.

They seemed to be heading downtown when Jeanette suddenly stopped humming. "So, where do you come from, little duckling?"

"Atlanta.", Cynthia stated. Why Atlanta? It was really just the first thing she came up with and based on the incredulous look Jeanette gave her, she probably made a bad pick. "My, straight out of the jungle, aren't we?" Cynthia made an effort to mask her expression while her driver grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Well, as long as you do not stand in the way of the Camarilla, Sebastian should not mind."

Seeming to have reached downtown, they were passing one building to their left which caught the young vampire's attention. Two statues of thin, tall, black people looking straight ahead were standing on each side of the doorway, their arms as stiff to their sides as their entire body, but with a little distance to their thin torsos. Cynthia frowned, thinking to herself how incomprehensible modern art mostly was.

Jeannette was humming again so she eyed the statues as they passed. Even though they were identical, to Cynthia it seemed, the left one looked rather calm while the right one appeared stiffer, defensive, even. Just as they passed and just as the witch looking away, the right statue's brown aura flared up. It was of such a dark shade that she would probably have missed if it were it not for the glitter and slightly pale blotches within. She jerked her head back to the left and she was definitely not imagining it. It was really glittering!

"That's the Prince's tower. A dull place." Jeannette stated with a pout, as if she had not noticed anything. Cynthia just nodded wordlessly and they passed two men in blue hazmat suits with green rubber gloves and rubber boots on the sidewalk and a stationary truck when they turned left. She was about to ask about the men in blue when their car took a right turn before stopping in front of an entrance barrier to an underground garage. The security guard raised the barrier up and the car drove forward a little. Jeanette rolled her window down and flashed a bright smile at the man on duty. He just passed her a tag tiredly and stepped back into his booth to raise the metal gate behind him so they could park their car.

The gathering was held not far away, in the Nocturne Theatre. An usher was standing at the entrance wearing a white shirt with a black bowtie around the collar, his vest and pants were both black. Not many other people were around and Cynthia turned towards her company worried. "Are we late?"

"Not at all." Jeanette simply replied, ever in a cheerful mood. The man waved them by as they approached. Curiously, the witch noted how his aura had pale blotches as well.

Jeanette led her to one of the halls which was already bustling with vampires, some seated and waiting, looked bored and wanting to get this gathering over with, but some others were standing around in small groups talking to each other. Cynthia made sure to stare straight ahead as she discovered that not all vampires looked normal.

They certainly would never have a problem with diversity as there were probably just as many people dressed formal as very…informal. One vampire she was definitely _not_ looking at was a disfigured monster in the right front row resembling _the_ black and white Nosferatu. It was a female specimen judging on her choice of…clothes, which were just pants and a dark bra, openly displaying her open wounds and her scarred complexion. It helped thinking of her as a zombie.

At least she assumed everyone here were vampires. She was not entirely certain when a wrinkled giant caught her eye, standing to the right of a blonde, arrogant looking man in dark attire. The giant was wearing a thick, dark wrinkled leather coat matching his visage which had to be custom made as he must have been the tallest creature in the room, but not only that. His eyes were also glaringly red and the oversized hilt of a sword probably the same size, if not bigger, was visible over his right shoulder.

Just as she thought of this weird creature, Jeanette grabbed her left arm with both of her hands eagerly. "Oh, we must introduce you to the Prince, or he'll chop your head of for being impolite." the blonde vampire said giggling. Cynthia was not sure what disturbed her more, the odd joke or the fact that she had a feeling she was not really joking. "He's getting used to being king." she added conspiratorially.

As they were heading towards the right front where the blonde man stood, she had an uncomfortable sensation. Her eyes met the piercing gaze of a bald-headed man in a luxurious, ruby-colored coat standing in the front left of the hall and staring at her with hard eyes so intensely she would have believed anyone if they told her he possessed laser vision. It could be the reason why he was wearing those small, red, orange-tinted circular glasses. Tremendous power was radiating from him. She should have been able to sense his aura, but it looked normal, despite her knowing something was wrong. It just proved that he was a threat. She looked away quickly, but still in manner as collected as she could muster, just in case he could really melt her down to a pitiful puddle.

Even Jeanette noticed as she stopped right after they passed the back seats, looking at the man too obviously, startling Cynthia. She would have preferred if they had just kept walking. "Ooooh, Max likes you, duckling!" she teased quietly. Not wanting to look at the man again, she instead focused on her friend. "Jeanette, did you not want to introduce me to the prince?" she asked, unable to stifle the urgent tone in her voice. She hoped, she at least _looked_ indifferent. "Ahh, you're right!" she replied, still carefree, seemingly not noticing how awkward Cynthia felt.

They continued as she inhaled quietly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth in an effort to be calm. "I brought a friend!" Jeanette declared happily when they stepped to the blonde prince. He had a cold appearance and looked annoyed, even more so when Jeanette introduced herself. "She's from Atlanta." she added before skipping away. Shit. She was hoping that would not come up, so she could perhaps wriggle herself out of it, but alas.

"It is as she said, my Prince. I have just arrived this evening and wanted to introduce myself." she stated smiling politely as she made a curtsy. As she straightened, she noticed from her peripheral vision, the bald man from before heading towards them. She pretended not to notice and the prince's annoyed scowl softened as Cynthia hoped. He looked like a man who liked his ego stroked.

"I see, and you accept the masquerade?" the prince questioned, not without scepticism. The bald man stood to the prince's right, his eyes on her, gaze still piercing, but no one else seemed to notice. She was unsure of the term, but it did not sound like a big deal, so she consented. This was the second time this night someone had stared at her like that, appearing like they knew her whole life story. She knew "Max" did not believe she was from Atlanta and she knew he knew she knew. How important that was, was something she might learn later. For a moment, she expected he would reveal her, but before that could happen, the prince already spoke. "Good, good." He said dismissively, his disinterest apparent. "You have my permission to stay in this domain."

She still felt "Max"'s stare on her back when she turned around and walked off. Jeanette was already seated and waved at her. Cynthia walked towards the left row where she was sitting closest to the stage and took a seat to her friend's right. Only then did she dare glance back towards where Max was standing previously. She feared seeing him talking to the prince; perhaps uncovering her lie, but much to her surprise, he was gone.

The small groups of vampires were breaking up already as the prince was not standing on stage, all of them slowly taking a seat with the exception of a long-haired, bearded man in an opened jeans vest who was hidden well as he leaned against one of the pillars to the left smoking a cigar.

The prince's guard, another vampire resembling Count Orlock if he was really into BDSM neck collars and a guy in dreadlocks, who looked boring in contrast, brought three other people to the stage.

The first guy looked similar to the prince as he, too, was a blonde man, but he had a gray suit instead and looked younger. He too appeared arrogant, even as he was kneeling on the stage with his hands tied behind his back. The second man brought in made Cynthia perk up. He wore a showy crimson shirt and black pants, looking very familiar, but also _felt_ familiar, strangely. It sounded stupid and it was never something she believed in, but it felt like destiny threw the man her way. It was silly and she detested such a stupid thought entering her head. He, too, had his hands tied and a pretty-looking, young short-haired woman wearing a white professional-looking blouse in the same position followed after him.

Suddenly she noticed Max in one of the right boxes closest to the balcony. Fortunately he had no attention for her anymore and was observing the stage attentively. Just as she looked away, the man noticed her turning his head towards her direction, but she just stared straight ahead and he went back to watching the stage.

Comparing the auras of the captives to everyone else in the auditorium, Cynthia could tell that they were vampires. Why they were bound like that was puzzling to her. It bothered her, but she restrained the urge of asking her friend.

The room fell quiet when the prince started talking. "Good evening." He stated loud and clear. "My fellow Kindred." He continued, lower but firmly. "My apologies for disrupting any business…" He clasped his hands close to himself with a serious expression as he stated that. "or interfering with prior engagements you may have had this evening. It's unfortunate, that the affair, that gathers us tonight, is a troubling one." He stated plainly before falling into a preaching, letting his hands fall to his sides as he strutted towards the blonde captive. "We are here, because the laws that bind our society, the laws that are the fabric of our existence…" he held before the blonde, hands clasped close to himself again and paused dramatically. "…have been broken."

Cynthia listened attentively, slightly taken aback by how organized this society was of the undead. The few vampires seated in the right front row were very casually dressed appearing rather unimpressed at his slightly inflated manner. A bald-headed, dark skinned, soldier-like man leaned towards the irritated-looking man to his right whispered into his ear. The man shook his head slightly in response. She picked up a well-concealed sense of disdain the prince seemed to have towards the captives.

"As prince" the preaching man stated, just in case he did not already sound self-important enough. "I am within my rights to grant or deny the Kindred of this city the privilege of siring."

She was glad some terms were not completely foreign to her. A couple of seats to the left a fashionable, handsome man, who was probably turned in his forties, looked bored as he had one arm nonchalantly on the top of his seat while he moved his other arm towards him to look at his watch. "Many of you have come to me seeking permission and I have endorsed some of these requests." the prince stated civilly as he paced back towards the girl. "However, the accused, that sits before you tonight, was not refused permission." His calm expression gave way to an annoyed scowl when he held in front of the female captive. "Indeed, my permission was never sought at all! They were caught shortly after the embrace of this child. It pains me to announce the sentence as up to tonight I considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our organization, but as some of you may know, the penalty for this transgression is death." He finished disappointed.

"Know that I am no more a adjudicator, than a servant to the law that governs us all." He vowed solemnly which was betrayed by the slight mocking delight in his voice as he continued. This felt aimed at someone in the auditorium, but Cynthia felt like she was missing some context to understand.

"Let tonight's proceedings serve as a reminder to our community, that we must all adhere to the code, that binds our society." She understood the bemused look Jeanette was giving here and the way she referred to him as a king before. He was really enjoying his role.

"Lest we endanger all of our blood." He ended warningly before bowing to the blonde captive whispering an insincere apology. "Forgive me."

"Let the penalty commence." With a hand sign, he permitted his guard to execute the vampire. The giant pulled out the sword which looked like it belonged in the Final Fantasy universe. It cut cleanly through the condemned man's neck, but no blood was visible.

Curiously, a few people on the left side of the auditorium turned to look for a reaction from the irritated-looking man who now had a cross expression as he watched the beheading. The bearded man, unmoved, took a pull at his cigar.

Meanwhile the executed man's detached head barely hit the ground when his skin crumbled into ashes to reveal his skeleton before even that turned to dust. A cold shudder ran down Cynthia's spine as she saw that, but she tried to conceal her shock.

The prince, however, was not fazed at all as he announced with a pleased smile on his face. "On a lighter note, the Tremere anti-tribu was apprehended at last."

Max had his arms folded but after that, he placed his arms stiffly on his lap with a grave expression. The Tremere anti-tribu held his head up cockily compared to the deceased who let his head hang before.

Charon announced himself, giggling hysterically while he tumbled out of thin air towards his witch. _You found him._ Cynthia made sure to ignore her familiar, as she was used to his shenanigans.

The man, who was going to be executed next, glanced at Cynthia in relief, before looking away quickly. It was so quick, she almost missed it but when her eyes met his it sent shock waves through her body. If she felt like stone before when she woke up, she must have been steel now. It was all clear now to her, what Charon was referring to. Jeanette was seemingly oblivious to her sudden distress, but that aside, she felt his stare piercing her again.

* * *

 _ **Welp. That was my poor attempt of a cliff-hanger…..My bad….but I had a little fun writing the first half.** (Too much in the previous chapter, perhaps.) **If you saw this chapter before I re-uploaded it, it is because I wrote most of it late at night all carried away.** **I can only pray, the story is not unbearably bad because of that. If there is actually anyone hoping for updates, they will be slow right now as I am actually a little occupied. ~Lady**_


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